


rearrange my heart (to fit your smile)

by starklystar



Series: 101 ways to propose [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, they are married but still pining somebody help them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: "You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and yourKing!""My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not evenloveyou!"Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.----------Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.Keyword:try
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: 101 ways to propose [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793032
Comments: 43
Kudos: 654





	rearrange my heart (to fit your smile)

**Author's Note:**

> nobody prompted this, it just came up and wouldn't go away until i wrote it out and since i haven't made tony propose much in this series, enjoy them falling in love despite howard's best efforts :D
> 
> p.s. to those of you who prompted stuff, for this series, i'll get to you soon!

Their first wedding happens during a thunderstorm.

Still, the people huddle beneath banners of cloth to cheer as their hooded carriage passes, seeking for a glimpse of the newly crowned King Steven, who has come of age and fulfilled the first duty of the crown: claiming a consort.

In truth, it's much less a claiming and more of a contract.

Tony came with a hefty dowry as the last unmarried Prince of the Starks, and King Howard made it a point to impose on him the enormity of his task in keeping King Steven happy. A consort was to be seen, not heard, to be enjoyed, not to enjoy.

If their first kiss – shared on the altar in front of a priest he doesn’t know and before a kingdom who doesn’t love him – was anything to go by, then their marriage was certain to be a cold and frigid affair.

The way King Steven held him stiffly and the overly chaste kiss landing on the corner of Tony’s lips spelled out rejection that _hurt_. He doesn’t want a husband who treats him cruelly, but he also doesn’t want a husband who ignores him.

Regent Fury placed an ornate crown over the new King’s head, and another smaller set of jewels over Tony’s brows, declaring them the rulers of the kingdom, with the power to set laws and grant forgiveness, to wage war and administer peace.

“Our palace is yours to turn into whatever home you see fit,” the King had announced on their wedding night, one week after they first met in the banquet hall. Howard and Advisor Stane sent Tony meaningful looks that translate into: _this palace is yours to turn into whatever home your king sees fit_.

Then, on their wedding bed, away from the crowds and prying eyes, King Steven took off his crown and opened a door adjacent to the reception room of the bedchambers. “These are your quarters,” the door swung to reveal rooms even grander, “you will be safe from everyone when you choose to reside there.” A warm key was pressed into Tony’s hand, clinking softly with the ring that imprisons him in this farce of a marriage.

“Even from you, Your Majesty?” Tony dared to ask, bracing himself for a raised fist.

All he got was the King taking a step back. “Even from me.” The promise sounded more truthful without the cacophony of cheers and the impossibly high arches of the cathedral. Then, “we are to live our whole lives together. Call me Steve – if it pleases you.”

A trick. 

Men rarely made this many concessions, and men in power do so even rarely. 

Lord Stane, Lord Hammer, Lord Doom. Their names flashed in Tony’s mind, and the key in his hand dug into his palm as he clenched it tight, holding onto the brief flame of hope for one more second before letting it go.

He opened his fist, offering the key back to the King. “I couldn’t, Your Majesty. My duty is – ” he took a deep breath, “my duty is in your bed and by your side.”

“Your duty is to keep me happy,” the King corrected sharply, and even years of practice weren’t enough to stop Tony from flinching. Immediately, King Steven frowned, hands reaching out in a placating gesture. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” More bluntly, he went on, “you don’t love me, and you have no reason to trust me. But your father was wrong when he said I married you for your riches.”

“You needn’t lie to me, Your Majesty.”

“Your mother was a close friend of my own mother.”

Tony blinked.

He was familiar of their family’s histories. He had been forced to memorise it all, to face the consequences of his birth that had taken the beloved Queen away from the world. Maria and Sarah were both born in the countryside, chosen as Queens by Kings who had been entranced by their poise and charm. Queen Maria died of childbirth, Queen Sarah of sickness that nearly took the life of her son too.

The two Queens shared a bond that strengthened their kingdoms, or so he had been told by men who knew his mother.

“I have heard tale of their friendship,” Tony hesitantly nodded.

The King moved away to unbuckle the clasps of his ceremonial robes, draping them over the stool by the easel. “My mother used to say that of all Queen Maria’s three children, you were the only one to inherit her grace,” the King looked up, meeting Tony’s gaze with a slight slant to his lips, “ _and_ her intellect.”

Tony couldn’t help the small bark of laughter that escaped him, but he stifled it quickly. Did King Steven _really_ share the opinion that his elder brothers Arno and Gregory were dull?

“That is high praise from Queen Sarah,” Tony hoped he wasn’t overstepping. 

He hadn’t been allowed to spend any time together with the King without either Howard or Obadiah in the room, and it’s a small relief to know that no matter how distant the King – and Tony should really accept reality and start calling him his husband – can be, he’s nowhere as cruel as Tony feared.

Howard had always been vindictive to Tony for his perceived role in Maria’s passing, and nothing would be crueller than chaining Tony to a life of misery with a bully.

The rain continued to fall, heavy patters drowning out the unsteady thundering of Tony’s heart, and lightning cut bright arcs through the tall windows of the bedchambers.

“She would have loved to meet you,” the King nodded, gaze distant with the memory of his late mother. “I chose you because they sent me your portrait – all the ladies held flowers in theirs, all the men had their medals pinned to their chests – but you had a book in your hand and your father made it clear that he hadn’t been happy with your choice of attire.”

The blazing red coat Tony had used was too ostentatious for Howard – too loud and too rebellious. Purple was the color of royalty. It had class, poise, calmness, dignity: everything Howard thought Tony lacked, and everything Tony flaunted with the bright colors.

“They sent me your portrait too,” Tony admitted. More coyly, because he was meant to be in bed with his new husband, not standing awkwardly ten feet apart, he gave a truth he hadn’t been willing to admit until now. “I liked how you looked.”

A quiet huff. When the King smiled, it had a tinge of unhappiness. “You needn’t lie to me either, Your Royal Highness.”

“Tony, please,” the words slipped out of Tony. “You shouldn’t – you are my – my husband,” he managed to not stumble too much over that foreign set of words. “You have all the right to call me by my name.”

The King’s smile turned more true. “You are my husband too. You have all the right to call me by my name.”

“I am your consort. I know my rights.” He also knows how to shirk his consort duties, but he would like to make a responsible first impression that wouldn’t burden the rest of his life in this new kingdom. 

_Heavens_ , Commander Rhodes must be laughing at the thought of Tony finally attempting even the mirage of responsibility.

Besides, King Steven was seeming less and less like a nightmare. And yet, that too could be a mask. After a week, a month, a year – this seemingly gentle King might fade away into someone harsher. Howard himself had once been revered as a heroic bringer of peace, and not as the tyrant that many fear he had now become.

The King stepped closer again to Tony, as if sensing the anxious doubt.

Hand curling around Tony’s, the King kept the key in Tony’s grip. “This marriage was not in either of our powers to refuse, but it is in my power to grant you all the freedoms I can. Your duty is to keep me happy, and nothing would make me happier than your happiness, for it is my duty as your husband to keep _you_ happy.” A short pause as the King took a solemn breath. “I will not sleep with you until you truly want it, and if that day never comes, I will not sully your honor by seeking warmth in another’s bed.”

“Your Majesty, surely – ”

“ _Tony_ ,” and his name said in that voice, with that tone of entreaty, stopped him short. “Tony, I did not choose a consort to mindlessly give me empty pleasures. The law requires our Kings or Queens to be married before ascending the throne because four shoulders carry the burden better than two. I understand our customs vary, but you are to be my equal, and if I am in possession of my own bedchambers, then my equal should be in possession of his own.”

“What is mine is yours,” Tony repeated the vows he had said earlier, hand burning from the hotness of the King’s touch. He could feel the ridges of the King – of his husband’s palm, and the calluses there from years of wielding a sword.

“You cannot give a heart so easily,” his husband replied, “and until you choose to give me your heart, you have your own bed, your own rooms, to be safe even from me.”

 _Don’t look the gift horse in the mouth_ , Pepper’s voice chided in his head.

There wasn’t much else for Tony to say except, “thank you, Your Maj – thank you, Steve.”

The smile that Steve gave him was blinding, and the hand around Tony’s squeezed warmly. “We should each sleep. Tomorrow, the Privy Council discusses taxation and crops to fill the granaries. If it pleases you, your attendance would be most welcome.”

“Most welcome?” Tony questioned, because he was beginning to realise that his life with this King would be far different from his old life, where he had been sequestered among tools and machines to keep him company as his family shunned him and the people counted him a curse against the late Queen.

Death was in Tony’s hands. There should be no reason for King Steven to want him near anything that would decide the life of thousands. And yet, his husband nodded once more. 

“You may regret attending the Council – and I will have the staff prepare an additional jar of coffee for when the advisors overstep their time – but your thoughts and help would be much appreciated.”

“I would be glad to help in all the ways I can.”

“Then I look forward to meeting you more often.”

When his husband lifted Tony’s hand up, the kiss pressed over the top of Tony’s ring is more searing than the touch, and more honest than the kiss by the altar.

The kindness of it forced heat to rise to his cheeks, prompting a different boldness to bubble in him too. Rising slightly to his toes, Tony used their closeness to his advantage. He darted forward, dropping a quick kiss of his own on the arc of his husband’s cheek.

A silent _thank you_.

“Good night,” he mumbled, looking down at their shoes.

“Good night.”

* * *

Tony kept the door locked on that first night: a test of his husband’s truthfulness.

He was woken in the morning by a guard's knock on the door, whose name he learns is General Barnes, and who hands Tony a letter of invitation from the King to dine breakfast together.

"His Majesty was otherwise occupied to ask me in person himself?" Tony had dubiously regarded the looping letters of ' _do me the honor_ ' and ' _your presence over the first meal of our day_ ' _._

He had spent sleepless hours in the night agonising over how to greet his husband on his first day in his new life, and while it is a relief to know he would not have to face that hurdle this soon, it was a hollow relief.

Did the King really feel the need to put this much distance between them?

Tony thought that he had done well in their conversation before bed, but he was evidently wrong if his husband and King didn't feel it necessary to convey the simple request in person.

"Steve takes a morning walk to the town square each morning, and did not want to disturb your rest when he left at dawn today," the General shocked Tony with his forwardness. Howard would've had Commander Rhodes lashed for daring to call the King anything other than _Your Imperial_ _Majesty_. 

"Each morning?" Tony asked. "Does His Majesty not fear for his safety?"

"Why must anyone fear the people who love you? The old Lords may not approve of Steve's brazenness or his predilection for disregarding the norms, but even they see a King who the people will never betray. Fear does not inspire loyalty," and the General gave Tony a small bow, head dipping down. "My Prince."

"I do not wish to impose on the King's habits," Tony decided. "Please tell His Majesty I am capable of breakfasting alone."

"The King," General Barnes' tone turned less friendly, "has also asked me to guide you through the castle."

"Guide, or guard?"

"Guide. I assure you that should you try anything I must be wary of, you would not be free to stand here, Your Royal Highness. Steve did not become our Prince until he proved himself worthy of the people's respect, and he was crowned King with the trust of the kingdom."

It went unspoken that no matter how much the King insisted Tony could build a home here, he would not find any help until he proved himself enough – equal – _worthy_ of the man he had been forced to marry. 

He has a choice now to meekly bend to Barnes' wish that he attend breakfast with the King, or to test the waters of his new life even more, pushing and pushing to the brink, to the limits until it breaks and he finds a way to fix it, to make it better.

"If you would show me the way to the kitchens, General Barnes, I would very much appreciate your assistance."

The confusion flitting through Barnes' stormy gray eyes felt like victory. "The kitchens, Your Royal Highness?"

"This palace is to be my home," Tony flashed his teeth in practiced cordiality, "I should like to meet the people who keep these halls warm with good food and flowing wine."

Meeting the palace staff gave him more reassurance that his new husband was truly kind, that the key Tony clung to for a measure of safety wasn't a mere act or abberance _._ They treated Tony's presence with caution, but were happy to point out the King's favorite dishes, and to pester Tony about his own favorites from his birthland. Their welcome buoyed Tony enough that he accepted Mister Coulson's insistent offer to aid him in getting dressed for the Privy Council.

He did turn out to regret attending the ridiculously dull Council meeting, although he found himself able to solve the crop problem with a few sketches of an improved yoke, which made his husband regard him with awe for the rest of the month.

His worries were further soothed when the King sought Tony out afterwards to compliment the red tunic Mister Coulson had placed on Tony, as well as the dark blue surcoat he wore over it.

"The King's colors," Mister Coulson had explained, pinning the royal crest of two intertwined eagles on top of Tony's heart.

With the King's approval, Tony was also given his own forge and smithy just outside the palace grounds, where the King might pass by it on each morning walk.

The smithy came with its own bed, and its own living quarters. "I was given the liberty to choose you," the King quietly said, "let this give you the liberty to choose where you find your rest, and to do as your heart pleases."

Tony frequented the forge often to build new contraptions to propose to the Council, but returned every night to the palace. The King did not need rumors about a wayward Consort to dog his steps, and Tony did not desire any accusations of infidelity or wrongdoing to mar the progress he had made in winning the palace staff over.

And with every new contraption, his husband's constant awe and wonder gave him the surety he needed to start voicing his other thoughts, slowly breaking away from the shell that Howard had forced him into. Thoughts of pipes to bring water closer, steam to heat rooms, and gears for better horse carts.

Their private dinners turned from painfully stilted events into hours of lively debate where Tony would lose himself in refuting his husband’s arguments and acknowledging where he himself might be wrong, while lunches morphed into walks around the city as Steve – and Tony now felt comfortable enough to call his husband by his given name – brought them to the most obscure taverns with the best blueberry pies in town. They went to the markets to browse for trinkets and hidden wonders, and when Tony points out the flower that had been Queen Maria's symbol, Steve gifts Tony with a bouquet of bright blue myrtles.

He became used to having the first dance of each banquet party with the King, only to have Steve's dance card be filled with young princesses and foreign princes for the rest of the night.

As Prince Consort, Tony was a highly sought partner too, for they thought he had sway over the King's heart. Tony watched General Barnes give Steve a turn on the dance floor, and he kept himself satisfied that while he did not have his husband's heart, he had his husband's gentle care. 

Other days, when the crown’s business wasn’t overly busy and Tony wasn't otherwise occupied in the forge, they would take the horses out, racing each other across the fields until they reached the river at the edge of the palace grounds.

Splayed out over the thick grass, Steve would take out a piece of paper and sketch faces from his childhood: his mother, the doctor who had saved him from severe illness, the red curls of Lady Romanoff who now acted as Chief Justice, and the toothy grin of a young General Barnes.

“If you love him,” Tony had broached the subject a few months into his new life, “I would not mind if you shared your bed with him.”

Well.

He would have minded, but there were sacrifices he was willing to make to wipe that brooding look from his husband's face, to turn it into the handsomest smile.

One could see how perfect a match between the King and his most trusted General would be, and Tony would not fault Steve for loving a man as upright as Barnes.

Steve had frowned, then _giggled_ , then very maturely composed himself. “He is my friend. He loves me as a brother and he protects me as best he can. I would have fewer qualms sleeping with _you_. I love him more only because I have had the chance to know him better.”

The words should sting, but the way Steve asked in turn about Rhodey and Pepper and promised to invite the two of them into the kingdom served as a balm.

And when Tony went to bed that night, he left the door between their chambers unlocked.

A week after the end of Rhodey and Pepper’s visit, Tony received his first sketches from Steve: one of Commander Rhodes and another of Lady Pepper. “For when they can’t be here,” Steve had slid the framed sketches across the breakfast table. “I’ve told Bucky to stop glaring at you so much – that you mean me no harm, that you truly are good to me – and I’ve arranged for your friends to visit more frequently.”

“Thank you,” Tony had carefully placed the frames by his bedside. “You’re – you’re good to me too.”

"You love your friends," Steve reached out, as if to touch Tony's shoulder, but his hand stopped mid-air, curling into a fist before dropping down. "It pleases me to see you happy."

"I love them as you love Bucky," Tony did not want his husband to think he would be unfaithful to his marriage, that he would throw away Steve's kindness so easily. "They are family to me, and you are... you." He swallows, searching for the right words. "You are my husband."

Steve nods, seeming strangely happy by that paltry reply. "You are my husband too, and I am grateful for it."

"I am grateful for it, too."

He’d always found it difficult to express his affection, and it was the height of irony that he found it most difficult to do around Steve, the man he married. However, judging by the small, satisfied smile Steve sent him from over their breakfast pies, Tony thought he might have done better than he hoped.

Winter passes into Spring before Tony leaves the door between their bedchambers open every night.

Despite the open door, Steve takes care to knock before he steps even an inch into Tony's bedchambers, no matter how many times Tony tells him there wasn't any need for such formality between them.

The faint sounds of Steve’s steady breathing that trickles through the open door helped him drift into a restful sleep, and he woke each morning to the welcome sounds of Steve shooing the serving staff away so he could pour Tony’s coffee himself.

“You get grumpy when you don’t have exactly two spoons sugar and three quarters of a tablespoon of milk in your cup,” Steve had explained to excuse that particular habit, but Tony was getting better at reading the lines between Steve’s thoughts.

 _Nothing would make me happier than your happiness_ , Steve had said on that first night, when they had only been King and Consort – not whatever they were now: friends, allies, _partners_. Tony supposed that those words were now as true for Tony as for Steve. He liked seeing his husband smile, and he liked even more the bright warmth that curled in him at the word ‘ _husband_ ’.

They share few touches: Steve wasn’t physically affectionate with his closest friends, and Tony is cautious of overreaching and jeopardizing the easiness between them. In public, they held hands and exchanged the occasional kiss on each other’s cheeks to show their unity.

Yet, the steadiness of Steve’s presence by his side was unwavering.

When Tony floated the idea of turning an old library into a school for lost children, Steve was quick to sign his name right next to Tony’s on the executive order. When the stuffy old lords refused to let Tony overhaul the kingdom’s defences for better protection against raiders – calling Tony a foreign prince and a spy to boot – Steve was even quicker to remind them all that Tony had more than earned their respect _and_ their people’s love.

Much to the lords’ frustration and the people’s jubilation, Steve had used a loophole Chief Justice Romanoff pointed out in order to bestow Tony the royal style of ‘ _His Majesty_ ’, turning Tony from Prince Consort to King in his own right.

General Barnes was especially gleeful at the decree, having grown closer to Tony in their mutual care for the King.

“Your Royal Highness doesn’t quite suit you,” Steve had joked when Tony returned from his hour of teaching at the school, “you’re not tall enough for that title.”

To which Tony had very royally stuck his tongue out and laughed, “I’m sure there are other parts of me that can be taller than you, Your Majesty.”

His husband turned a very interesting shade of red, a blush forming all the way to his ears.

“Such indecency, my King,” Steve muttered.

That easiness wasn’t meant to last, though, because sooner or later, Tony’s family would realise that this marriage didn’t turn out to be the ‘stabilising influence’ they had wished for, that Tony had far more liberties here than they would ever imagine allowing him back in his birthland.

The time comes sooner rather than later: the flowers of Spring were beginning to ebb when the missive comes.

Trouble’s first signs come as a frown on Steve’s face. Tony follows his husband to the rose garden to find some air and listens to his husband’s tired words. “King Howard desires to have an audience with us in twenty days’ time.”

Steve knows better than to call Howard as Tony’s father.

The only reason the kingdom still keeps cordial ties with the Starks is Tony’s insistence that the livelihoods of the smallfolk shouldn’t be jeopardized by the selfishness of a handful. Without the crops of Brookland, the citizens of Stark would starve. Money couldn’t buy fertile lands, and Steve had grudgingly accepted that fact despite his offense at learning from Rhodey and Pepper how poorly Howard had treated his youngest son.

“As King, I have every right to refuse him, and as King, _you_ have every right to deny him entry,” Steve continues, the unspoken question hanging between them.

“Will Arno and Gregory be coming with him?”

“The letter makes no mention of them.”

Small mercies. “I have no desire to meet Howard,” Tony wasn't shy to confess, “but I have spent enough time hiding and running and bending to his will.” His gaze meets his husband’s, and he’s surprised to find pride shining brilliantly in its blue depths. “No more,” he declares. “Let Howard see I am stronger here with you.”

He isn’t the meek creature who followed orders to marry a stranger, who was a pawn to be sold in Howard’s greed and twisted games. Under Steve’s kindness and honest goodness, Tony realises he had grown, blossoming towards the sun of Steve’s heart.

That should terrify him.

He finds comfort instead.

Why should he be afraid of loving his own husband?

Worry is the only thing he feels, because he doesn’t know whether his husband sees him as another friend, another Bucky, or whether his husband has grown to love Tony as Tony has learned to love Steve: seeking the sound of Steve’s footsteps beside his own, waiting for Steve to return to the bedchamber and counting down the hours when Council meetings end so he can turn to Steve and share the funny thought he had about Lord Fury’s eyepatch.

The small things, where he listens to Steve hum in the bath, and the big things, where he builds pipes of hot water so Steve can stay longer in the bath without the cold bothering him. Where he questions whether Steve is smiling at him because of something he said or because _Tony_ makes Steve happy.

Their first anniversary comes three days before Howard's planned arrival, and Tony spends weeks mulling over what to give his husband that didn't scream of his unrequited love for the man he married.

A new easel is what he decides on. Not too personal, but useful in its portability. Foldable legs would allow Steve to sketch anywhere he pleases.

"Leave it here," Steve said when he saw it. "I see no need to carry it elsewhere."

Tony's heart dropped, because for Steve to leave it in the forge meant his husband didn't like the gift.

But before Tony could retreat to lick his wounds in private, Steve added slowly, "if you permit it, I would spend more time time here. I promise not to bother you as you work. I will draw silently, and, well."

Steve took out a thick package, which was revealed to be a set of framed sketches that left Tony feeling awed and confused all at once.

The first was the hills he had spent his unruly childhood exploring, forcing palace's poor groundskeeper Mister Jarvis to chase after him, and in the second frame was Mister Jarvis himself, with a likeness that made Tony ache for the man. There were more sketches of Rhodey and Pepper, of the home he had lost when he married Steve. And the last: Tony's own, smiling face drawn out with dark charcoal.

"A promise," Steve wrung his hands, clearly waiting with baited breath for Tony's verdict on the gift. "You have been more withdrawn lately, and if it is because you miss your home, I hope this makes the separation easier to bear."

"I miss Rhodey and Pepper," Tony didn't hesitate to confess, "but I have a home here too. I would miss much of our kingdom if I were to return there." _I would miss you,_ he wanted to add, and _would you miss me_ _?_ he wanted to ask.

Was this desire to make Tony happy born out of Steve's upstanding moral duty, or out of something more?

"One year," Steve raised his wine glass solemnly, "I hope you forgive me any mistakes or slights I might have made against you."

"One year," Tony felt the weight of the glass bear down on him, the years stretching on before his eyes, a lifetime of silently loving this gentle man he married, of yearning for someone he wanted who he already had in all the ways that should matter. That don't matter because their marriage was built on contracts and duty, not some childish fantasy. 

He should count himself lucky that they have become friends.

That Steve was never cruel.

That he knew Steve loved him in his own way, even if not the way Tony wanted.

"To many more anniversaries," the words stick in Tony's throat, their irony difficult to smile through. "And there is nothing to forgive that I have not already forgiven."

Steve's lips twist down. "You are unhappy."

 _You cannot give a heart so_ _easily_ , Steve's words haunted him, because Tony cannot find it in himself to blame Steve for not loving him. "I am happier here than I was before I came."

That, at least, was the truth. 

"To many more anniversaries, then," Steve clinked their glasses together, thankfully dropping the subject. More quietly, "I am happier too with you here."

Tony's heart clenched. At least Steve loved him in his own way.

"You are most welcome to draw here anytime you wish to brave the fires of my forge."

"A small price to pay," Steve sipped his glass, and Tony didn't dare ask what Steve thought he got in return for that price.

There was no splendor in watching Tony bend metal and hammer wood, but he welcomed what time he can spend with his husband.

The days tick on dreadfully afterwards, Steve casting concerned glances as Tony fretted around the palace.

Howard arrives in the kingdom with the loud pomp and ceremony that an insecure man needs to hide his doubts, and where Tony had once been intimidated by the titles and the forced grandeur of it all, he now feels disgust.

He wants to get this visit over with as quickly as possible, but he has the dreadful realisation that Howard will drag it out as painfully as possible.

“Does my son satisfy you?” Howard asks over dinner, beads of wine clinging to his beard.

“My husband is among the best Kings this land has been blessed with,” Steve answers through gritted teeth. On Steve’s other side, Tony can’t help feeling grateful that his husband chose to bodily place himself between Tony and Howard.

“Don't be shy now," Howard leans into Steve's ear, not bothering to whisper, "how loudly did he scream your name in bed for you to gift him that title?”

Steve’s eyes flash fire. “My apologies, I must have misheard you.”

The more cordial Steve gets, the more disastrous the outcome for everyone involved. Tony steps in, hoping to not waste his husband’s anger on something as petty as this. "Father," he spits the word out, "I have upheld the honor of our kingdoms. If you are unhappy with my actions, then it is your right to feel unhappy. It is _not_ your right to judge, for this is not your land and the people care little for your words."

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the hall shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your _King!_ "

"My King is my husband," Tony will not be cowed anymore. He has found a true home here, and he will be damned if he lets Howard ruin another good thing. "I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me. I care for him more than you have ever cared to think of me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise. Such a public declaration in front of a hall full of their kingdom's highest nobility was bound to incur gossip.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even _love_ you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding. He opens his mouth to say a lie, anything to cover his slip.

Except, his husband gets there first.

Steve stands, and the entire hall stands with him: a show of loyalty that plainly shakes Howard to the core. Looking down at Howard, Steve raises his hand in a signal to his guards. "You are a guest of my kingdom. Only for that reason do I not strike you. King Anthony is my chosen, and you will apologise to him _now_ lest I cast you out of my lands."

"I will not," Howard foolishly tips his chin up in arrogant defiance. "You require my wealth too much, my forge and my tools. You would not break our alliance for the sake of an insolent bast – "

"If you finish that sentence, I will find a way to finish your kingdom," Steve hisses. The hushed whispers fall into deafening silence, and all Tony can hear is the rapid beats of his heart, drumming loudly in his ears. "Your people deserve a better King," Steve continues, voice low, threatening. He takes Tony's hand, silently bidding Tony to stand tall, too. "And I am married to the King I know your people will love." Blue eyes turn to Tony. "As I have grown to love my husband."

His heart stutters.

Howard's mouth opens and closes in helpless anger, but Tony can't bring himself to care or revel in his father's humiliation. He has only space for Steve, and for the utter conviction with which Steve had spoken those words.

"Steve," the name slips out of him, because what else is there to say? "You don't have to do this."

He will _not_ have Howard guilt Steve into loving him.

"I have been remiss," Steve declares, gaze never leaving Tony, "in showing you too little the affection you planted in me with the brilliance of your thoughts, the largeness of your heart, and the handsomeness of your joy."

Somewhere near them, he catches snippets of Howard's outraged, stuttered curses, and he hears Bucky dragging the disgraced King out of the banquet hall.

"It has been a year and a week since I promised my life to you," his husband goes on, unwavering, "it is my duty to protect you in all the ways I can; my right to defend you from those who would seek to hurt you; and my pleasure to prove wrong those who would seek to doubt my affections for you."

_Oh._

The entire hall has fallen silent again.

Steve's hand reaches out towards Tony, but falls short. A hesitant move aborted.

"You have been good to me," Tony repeats, because he cannot bear to have his husband put any more distance between them. "The very best, in fact. I believe our people can attest to how easily you show me your affections." Tittering laughter from the Dukes and Duchesses in the room, and an audible huff from Lord Fury. "I simply read your gestures wrong. It felt ungrateful to hope for more of your heart, when - when what you have given me has been more than I even dared to dream for."

He braves taking a step even closer to his husband, which Steve apparently takes as permission to lean down to press a kiss on Tony's cheeks, and he lets Steve's lips dry the tear that had fallen there without his bidding. But before Steve can pull back, Tony reels him in, and he _kisses_ his husband for the first time, properly and truthfully, all his unsaid words and unvoiced pleas bursting out of him, mixing with the salt on Steve's lips and tasting the dizzy headiness of benediction, of freedom and victory, of home and safety and sunlight.

"I've wanted to do that since I first saw you," Steve confesses against his lips, hand impossibly gentle on Tony's cheek.

"You needn't lie to me, Your Majesty," Tony laughs wetly, the words from their first night coming back to him.

"Not kiss you. That came after," Steve shakes his head. In the torchlight, the red rising up Steve's neck is a soft pink. "I wanted to give you reason to smile. And to make whoever turned you unhappy understand their mistake. "

Tony stares at him. "Oh."

"You weren't happy in the portrait they sent me," Steve's thumb brushes the dip of Tony's dimples. "All the ladies were smiling and the men were proud in their pictures. You were scowling in your red coat, and yet you were the handsomest."

That was nice to know. Nicer than nice.

His husband had wanted him even in his most wretched dissatisfaction, when he had railed against the chains Howard tried to keep him in, when he had hated the world and hated himself even more – before Steve had shown him the truth beyond Howard's lies.

"I'm glad you chose me," Tony whispers into the space between them, their small bubble safe from prying ears.

Steve kisses him again.

"I'm glad you let me know you better."

* * *

Things get far, far easier after that.

They still argue fiercely, but the undercurrent of desperate _want_ need no longer be hidden, and they each grow more honest, more kind.

Tony starts to leave his private chambers altogether, spending nights in Steve's bed and waking early in the mornings to join his husband and meet their people, who hang garlands of flowers around their necks. They while away weekends in Tony's forge, working side by side. In the afternoons, Steve will visit the library school together with Tony, sitting in on Tony's lectures about weights and pulley devices, about force and speed and steampower.

The younger children gather around Steve to clamor for the sketches and candies Steve brings along. It's simple to suggest that they choose an heir from among the children there. Steve, however, says he would like to enjoy having Tony to himself for a while longer before children enter the equation.

So when the plans for the celebrations of their third wedding anniversary begin circulating among the palace staff, Tony looks at the wardrobe in Steve's room, where Tony's coat hangs in there next to Steve's riding jacket, where Steve's shirts smell more like Tony's and Tony's smell more like Steve's.

Proof of their shared life.

He regards the symbolic ring on his hand, a gaudy band with a sparkling ruby that Advisor Stane had insisted on to declare their wealth and Tony's position. Despite that, he had learned to love it, because it had been Steve who had slipped it on his finger with shaking, fumbling hands all those years ago in the middle of an endless thunderstorm.

The first thing he thinks of when the idea first flashes through him is: _stupid_.

The second thing he thinks of is that it is the kind of stupid and silly and affectionate that he knows Steve will love.

And that's the entire point of it, isn't it?

With Pepper and Rhodey now permanently residing in the palace with him, he has the right people to help make the plan work.

Delay the anniversary celebrations for one week, kidnap the King to the countryside, and find out where he had misplaced the key to his bedchambers.

"I thought you would enjoy having me to yourself for our anniversary," Tony innocently informs Steve as the horses bring them away from the city.

Possessively, Steve curls his hand around Tony's waist. "Then why are Natasha, Pepper, Bucky, and everyone else coming with us?"

"So you won't get tired of me," Tony deflects easily. There isn't anyone else in the small, plush carriage, and he successfully distracts Steve with languid kisses and teasing touches that leave them both flushed. 

The hillsides pass them by quickly with that distraction, until the horses bring them to a stop right on top of a hill overlooking a small town in the valley, rivers cutting through it and turning the ground around it a beautiful green. Tony opens the carriage door, beckoning Steve to come out with him.

"This is – " Steve's mouth curves into an 'o', "my mother's birthplace."

"I wanted to meet her somehow," Tony manages not to stumble over his words. The velvet box in his inner pocket feels heavy as a stone. "I wanted to have her blessing."

Steve's face softens. "She would have loved you. You never need doubt that."

"I know," Tony says, and it's the truth. The setting sun over the hill paints a golden glow over everything. "But I wanted to be here for this."

He takes the velvet box out of his pocket to open it. Inside, the silver key gleams, its chain curling around it. Tony doesn't do Steve the disservice of kneeling to him: in this, they were equals. He takes Steve's hand instead, pressing a kiss over the ring there, over the hollow vows he had once said in front of an entire kingdom.

"Tony, dearest, what - "

"You told me once that you chose me. And that until I chose to give you my heart, I was to have my own rooms where I could be safe even from you." He takes the chain out of the box, the key swinging in the air between them, and drops the empty box back into his pocket. Lifting himself slightly on his toes, he slips the chain over Steve's head, so that the key falls at the center of Steve's chest, on top of his velvet blue coat that Tony so loves.

"I am safest with you," Tony declares, "and if you would have me again, if you would do me the honor of renewing our vows, then I would be thrice-blessed to marry once a man who is kind and to marry twice a man whom I love."

"Tony, I," Steve turns his gaze up to the heavens, the sun showering his smile with its light. Tony's hands are suddenly enclosed in the warmth of Steve's, and Steve returns Tony's gesture: he kisses every knuckle on each hand, each kiss for one word. "Yes. Yes, yes, _yes_. God, I love you."

"You make me happy," Tony grins giddily, wrapped up in Steve's strong arms. "So, so happy, and I just - " the key that hangs on Steve's chest presses between them both as Tony tucks his chin over Steve's shoulder. "I love you too."

Steve tilts his head to kiss the base of Tony's neck. "My husband." Another kiss. "My King." One final kiss. "My Tony."

"You're a hopeless romantic," Tony teases, feeling Steve's ribs rumble with a replying laugh.

"Only because you make me hopelessly enamored."

"On days that I don't make you hopelessly frustrated."

"It's treason to suggest outlandish things about your King," Steve huffs. "I'm never frustrated. Never with you."

"Liar." Tony pulls back to drop a peck on the tip of Steve's nose, smiling stupidly at the chain and the key and the world of promise around them. "And it _should_ be treason not to give _your_ King a proper kiss."

"As Your Majesty commands," Steve acquiesces.

* * *

Their second wedding happens during the brightest day of summer.

And if their kiss – shared on an altar in front of their closest friends and to their loud cheers and hoots – was anything to go by, then their marriage was certain to be a most pleasurable affair.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](starklysteve.tumblr.com) :)


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